


Friends With (Marrige) Benefits

by AngelOfBooze



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Fake Marriage, Queerplatonic Relationships, aroace!Clint Barton, aroace!Natasha Romanoff, queerplatonic clintasha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:46:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfBooze/pseuds/AngelOfBooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha are mistaken for a romantic couple by the press. They roll with it like square tires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Break It To Them Gently

**Author's Note:**

> Woo, I'm just showering you with fic. I guess it's to say "Sorry" for my long absence!
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Point them out if you see any!

They were laughing when the press suggested it and Natasha was still laughing now. Her side were aching for a break but she didn’t care. The idea was just so absurd! There were tears still lingering in her eyes. Natasha rolled over on the couch, the comforter was tangled up in her legs and her hair was a mess. Maybe she was laughing so much because she hadn’t slept for the past two days? Oh well. Natasha lifted her head as she heard someone slip into the room. Sleep deprived or not, she was still a superspy.

Natasha nods her head in acknowledgment as Barton sits down on the opposite end of the couch. She vaguely noted that Clint usually snuggled up next to her, though she couldn’t bring herself to care. Natasha was stifling a laugh at the constipated look on his face. It was a good thing that she was holding back too, because the next thing to come out of Barton’s mouth was certainly _not_ what she had expected. Natasha gapes like a fish for a few seconds before regaining what little air of composition she had. “Marry you?” she repeats, blinking slowly into the darkness that has enveloped the room. Someone really needs to turn on a light so that Clint can see what she’s saying. Natasha shakes her head to clear it. She realizes this is the wrong move a second too late when she hears Clint give a dejected sigh beside her.

“What I mean is-“ she correctes herself, “Is that if you expect a ‘yes’ to _this_ proposal, you got another thing coming”. Barton rolled his eyes, the tension melting off of his face his shoulders relaxing. A horse laugh escaped the archer’s lips. He slid off of the couch and onto the floor, crouched on one knee. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova” he is saying in a tone of mock seriousness, “Will you marry me?” Clint produces a burger ring from someplace unknown and slips it over Natasha’s out stretched finger. “Where the hell did you get that?” she asks, eyeing the offending food item that is leaving itchy food-dust on her ring finger. Clint shrugs, before pulling the offending chip off of Natasha’s finger and eating it. Natasha cringes but doesn’t say anything. This is the man she has chosen to marry.

* * *

 

Natalia sucks her stomach in as the ‘helpful’, tittering woman in the shop tries to pull the constricting gown above Natasha’s breasts. Sure, Natasha was used to wearing formfitting clothing, but absolutely none of the dresses she wore had a _built in corset_. Natasha can feel the woman poking and prodding in all the wrong places. She had tried to tell the attendant that she could, in fact, get it on herself, but the attendant wanted to be sure that Natasha was getting “The perfect dress for her perfect day”. That also meant that the attendant thought Natasha looked shifty and wanted to keep an eye on her. Natasha looks around the curtain, trying to catch Clint’s eyes. He had come along to help chose a dress, which also meant that he was taking discreet pictures of Natasha and snapchatting them to Tony (who would no doubt make a nuisance of himself). Natasha flinches when the woman’s sharp nails catch on a mole on her back.

* * *

 

 

Natasha is sitting in the Avengers common room when Pepper comes in to tell them that there is a bit of a 'situation' (meaning a giant ass explosion) on social media sites regarding her and Clint’s engagement. Natasha cringes when she realizes that she forgot that the media would be expecting her and Clint to make everything ‘official’, whatever that means. Pepper gives her some notes and ideas on how to address the press with as little blow back as possible. Natasha grumbles next to Clint, insisting that they should just pull a Beyoncé and just let the frenzy die down and _then_ release photos of their ‘wedding’. “There’re all ready rumors, Nat. Apparently a few photos leaked of us at the dress and cake shop” Clint cringes, realizing a second too late what he said.

“Tony” Natasha snarls, “I’m gonna kill that sonova-“

“Hey, hey!” Clint raises his hands in a placating gesture, “I’m sure he didn’t _mean_ for those pictures to leak”

Natasha sighs but leaves the topic alone. She drags a hand down her face in exasperation. “But _now_ they will just straight up ask us what we’ll name ‘the baby’ that we’re expected to have” she cringes. Natasha notes that Clint’s grip on plush couches arms tightens.

“They’ll also expect _you_ to take my name” he grits out. Natasha sits straight up in her char, bristling.

* * *

 

 

Natasha scowls as she has her hair pulled and toyed with by the stylists. She had insisted to the journalists that she and Clint were just planning on going down to city hall with a few of the other Avengers as witnesses to sign the necessary paperwork to get married, no big ceremony or anything. She was only going to have a simple silk dress and a neat, practical hair-do. Of course the papers were scandalized and a few of them had insisted that the couple should have an all expense paid wedding photo shoot.

Because Natasha was having trouble breathing through the unknown, most likely poisonous substance the stylist was currently spraying onto her hair, she can barely wheeze out a question that has been playing on her mind since she agreed to the photo shoot.

“Exactly how many different dresses will I have to wear?” she asks, dreading the answer. The perky Journalist who snapped pictures of Natasha every few minutes smiled; “About four or five, maybe six”. Natasha wants to hit her head against the counter, but that might cause her birds-nest of curls to fall out of place and they would have to start the whole process all over again. It will be a _long_ couple of days.

* * *

 

Natalia stretches out on her soft, plush bed. She sighs contentedly as she feels her joints pop. Clint pokes his head into her room. He quickly turns away “Uh, Nat?” he says, his voice sounding off.

“Yes?” Natasha sighs.

“Could you, uh, pull your sheets up a little bit?”

Natasha sighs and pulls her sheets up past her hips. It’s not her fault she prefers to sleep without clothes on when she’s at home. It’s a luxury to be able to change clothes after being in the field for five days. Clint slinks back into Natasha’s bed room and sits down on the side of her bed. “PR was wondering if we could invite a few news programs in to our flat?” he says uncertainly.

“They’ve already taken over all other aspects of our lies, I hardly see how this will be different” Natasha grumbles, laying back down on her pillows and putting her arms up beneath her head. Natasha notes vaguely that the hair on her underarms is fading from the bright turquoise she dyed it a few weeks ago. Clint pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, the engagement ring sparkling elegantly in the warm morning light streaming through the open windows that take up the whole east wall of Natasha’s room.

“We don’t share a bed.” Clint eventually says. “We’re getting married, they will be expecting us to share” he is obviously more distressed about the thought a sharing with Natasha than she is of sharing with him. Natasha crawls over to where Clint is sitting, making sure her blankets don’t fall lower than her navel. She reaches out a slender arm and rubs a few comforting circles into Clint’s back. “Why don’t we tell them that we’re waiting until we’re married to… uh, do the do?” she suggests, though she knows that the media probably won’t buy it. She can see the headlines now. They’ll probably insult the couple one way or another. Clint flops backwards onto the bed before laying his head in Natasha’s lap. “Clint, I love you. You know that” Natasha states, carding her hand through Clint’s hair, “And if you ever don’t want to do anything, if you want to call this whole thing off. I won’t mind.” Clint sighs and wraps his arms around Natasha’s waist.

“Thank-you, Natalia” he mumbles into Natasha’s hip. She huffs out a laugh.

“You’re welcome, Bird boy” she smiles. Clint hums contentedly in response

* * *

 

 

Natasha can feel her cheeks become hot at the interviewers question. She and Clint had been sharing a queen sized bed for the past week in preparation for the moment the thoroughly screened television crew came into their shared floor in the Avengers Tower. Somehow, the interviewer managed to turn whatever she said sexual. Like when she and Clint were running late because they had slept in. The journalist raised his eyebrows and written something down in the little notepad he carried around. Natasha could feel Clint shift uncomfortably next to her. Natasha put her hand on his knee, trying to calm her own fraying nerves. The interviewer clears his throat, as if he isn’t wearing out his welcome.

“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” he asks, rolling the graphite pencil between his nicotine stained fingers. Natasha squeezes Clint’s knee, she knew how uncomfortable he was about romance. “About… Six years?” she estimates. The interviewer’s eyebrows climb further towards his toupee.

“And we didn’t know about it until now?” he says, “How did you manage to keep your relationship secret for so long?” he asks, positively _scandalized_. Natasha shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat. The interviewer turns to Clint, obviously wanting to get an equal amount of answers out of them both.

“I bet she gives you a run for your money in the bed room, eh?”

Clint turns his head to the side slightly, discreetly trying to hear what the interviewer is saying since the interviewer is facing his note pad. “Uh, sorry,” Clint finally relents, “Can you look at me and repeat that?”

The interviewer’s mouth pulls down at the corners, he’s obviously not used to working around barriers. He repeats his question in a slow, loud voice and then suddenly he claps Clint on the shoulder, not noticing how tense and anxious the other man had become. Natasha is unsure if it’s because of the question or the interviewers’ overt rudeness, but her face sours anyway. Before she can do anything Clint growls out one single command. Get out.

The interviewer looks confused at the order and stays sitting. Clint stands up and pulls himself to full height. “You will not talk about Natasha like that. Get. Out”. The interviewer and his cohort pack up hurriedly after Clint’s small outburst. Clint and Natasha would probably be portrayed in a bad light come tomorrow, but Natasha found herself not caring.

* * *

 

Natasha crawls into her side of the bed. After he journalist left, she expected to be sleeping alone, so it’s a bit of a shock when a warm body works its way under the covers. Natasha feels strong arms wrap themselves around her waist. “Why do I have to be the little spoon?” She asks, prodding Clint’s arm with her finger when he doesn’t respond. She had forgotten that he had taken out his hearing aids.

 


	2. Take Me To Church

Groaning, Natasha rolls over when the bedside alarm starts to flash and vibrate. Her mind is foggy with sleep and the exhaustion that has taken hold over the past few months. She rolls out of bed and onto the plush carpet of her and Clint’s bedroom. Clint, despite being the one facing and nearest to the alarm, is still sleeping. She reaches over him and turns of the alarm. Natasha hits Clint lightly on the arm to rouse him before she slinks out into the kitchen to begin the day.

* * *

 

Natasha is seated at the island just off from the kitchen looking over the morning newspaper, her eyes skimming over the gossip articles about her and Clint, when her… partner, she decides is the right word, walks in. “Hey Tasha” he slurs, eyes still bleary with sleep. For a couple of master assassins, Natasha and Clint are not as on top of things in the mornings as would be expected. Natasha notes that Clint doesn’t have his bright purple hearing aids in and signs a good morning back to him. ‘Coffees still in the pot’ she tells him, almost immediately regretting it when Clint takes a few gulps straight from the it. He runs his hand over the back of his head.

* * *

 

A light begins to flash lazily out of the corner of her eyes. ‘I’ll get it’ Clint signs, walking over to where a tablet sits on a low table in the corner of their apartment. Clint plops onto the ground and sits cross legged beside it before pressing the receive button. JARVIS’ voice fills the apartment, “Hello Agent Romanov, Agent Barton. I’m afraid I have some news.” Natasha can see Clint’s eyes darting from one side of the tablet to another, reading along with what JARVIS is saying. “Apparently FOX news is taking your refusal to talk about your sex life as a fact that you don’t have one”

“We don’t” Natasha hears Clint mumble.

JARVIS continues speaking, “They think you’re waiting until marriage and are now presenting you as a beacon of Christian morals”. Natasha groans and puts her head in her hands. She thought she had made it perfectly clear to the media that she was an atheist. She didn’t know what Barton believed in, but from the way his lips pulled down at the corners, it wasn’t this. “JARVIS, can you send us the video of this?” Natasha asks.

“Certainly, Ms. Romanov”, JARVIS replies.

Clint rises slowly off of the tiled floor and sits down beside Natasha. “This sucks” He says, a bit too loudly. Natasha nods. A YouTube video starts up on the tablets screen. JARVIS is translating everything the presenters are saying into subtitles at the bottom of the screen, because everyone in the Avengers tower learned early on not to trust YouTube subtitling. Natasha cringes as the video goes on. She can see Clint’s face falling into one of despair. “I can’t believe these people” Clint says. Natasha nods slowly. The video, like all FOX videos, was far worse than expected. “I vote we spar, get back into bed and tweet the picture” Clint says when the video is over. ‘Agreed’ Natasha signs.

* * *

 

Natasha doesn’t regret anything. Well, almost anything. She regrets the fact that she yelled at Clint because he spilled some coffee on the floor that had just been cleaned. The stress of their wedding was getting to her. Anyone except for the media could see that. She was being asked for more interviews than she could count on all her fingers and toes. She was previously an unknown member of the avengers. She kept to the shadows. The media didn’t bother her and she didn’t bother them.

* * *

 

Natasha and Clint were taking leave from their jobs. Apparently PR was more important than taking out crime bosses and other Big Bads of the underworld. Natasha is stretched out above the plush, tacky covers of her and Clint’s shared bed. Her throat is tight and her jaw hurts from her clenching it. Her eyes are watering slightly. The plain white door to the bedroom swings open silently and Clint comes into the room holding a steaming mug and a bowl. Natasha tries not to meet his eyes. Clint puts the bowl and mug down on Natasha’s bedside table and leaves without a word. After a few moments in the silent room Natasha rolls onto her side and props herself up with her elbow. Her green eyes go straight to the mug, its go whipped cream on top and chocolate sprinkles, Natasha assumes it’s hot chocolate. In the bowl is vanilla ice-cream with chocolate flakes throughout. Natasha knows she’s forgiven.

* * *

 

She comes across Clint curled in on himself in the corner of the living room a few weeks later. The date of their wedding is set about a month away, for late winter, they had both assumed, when the wedding was still in the planning stages, that the cold would keep most press away from the event. His hair has gotten long enough to cover his ears she notes. She can’t tell if Clint has his hearing aids in. Natasha sits gingerly next to Clint and says his name. No response. She taps him gently on the shoulder. He flinches slightly before looking up at her with red rimmed eyes. ‘How are you?’ she signs. Clint shakes his head. “I feel useless, Nat” he says. Natasha nods her head in understanding. She and Clint had had to do more and more PR as the wedding drew closer. She knew how horrible it felt, having nothing to do that could count as actual work. ‘Gym and exercise’ Natasha signs, ‘you will feel better’. Clint inclines his head slightly in an uncertain nod. Natasha uncrosses her legs and stands up, reaching a hand down to Clint, offering to help him up. Clint takes Natasha’s hand.

* * *

 

Natasha is working her jaw as she looks out over the indoor reception area. She and Clint had decided to have a small wedding with only Avengers present. Steve and Bucky were chatting with Pepper and Tony near the elaborate buffet that the chefs had prepared. Natasha never even realized that Tony had chefs. Darcy, Jane and Maria were seeing how much Midgard alcohol it would take to get Thor drunk and Bruce was watching them with a look of fascinated horror. Fury had escaped the wedding as soon as he could and last Natasha heard he was on a mission in Prague. She and Clint are awkwardly drifting around the room; the light is streaming in from windows that surround the whole floor. “How long ‘til the press gets here?” Clint asks. Natasha cringes before shrugging. “A few hours” she replies.

* * *

 

Natasha holds Clint’s hand underneath the table as cameras go off in front of them. He’s got a stiff smile plastered to his face, far different than the natural one he usually wears. “Give us a kiss!” One of the reporters shouts from the front. Clint’s hand tightens on Natasha’s. His eyes go slightly wider. “C’mon Spock” she says to him. His smile relaxes a bit. Natasha and Clint had planned for this. Sure, they could kiss, hell they had a few times, but they did not want to give the press the open mouthed, slimy tongue kiss that they were expecting. Natasha raised the hand that wasn’t holding onto Clint’s, extending only her index and middle finger.

They kiss in public for what will be the first and last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for my lengthy absences interspersed by mediocre fic.  
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this at least a little?  
> All mistakes are mine, please point them out if you see them!  
> Come embellish me with your headcanons at qpclintasha.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed part one of.. I think two?? It really all depends on if you guys actually //want// another chapter of this!  
> Come and shower me with your queer platonic clintasha headcanons over on my tumblr at angelofbooze


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